Bleeding, Rhyming, Both In Good Timing
by Jokerfest
Summary: Ruffles and lace. Ribbons and grace. She sat down on her tuffet, letting him have his way.He leaned down beside her, his grin growing wider and cut some Lovett away. A bitter take on the relationship between Sweeney,Lovett,and his knives. M for blood smut
1. Butcher and Baker

Pale hands.

Pale hands that were dexterous and desperate. They meandered at the base of the neck, and wandered lovingly against the shaving foam. Scrape and scrape they did against the skin, mowing away unwanted hairs. Up higher over desired cheekbones and one could almost hear tenderness sing from the sharp blade. This pale hand was careful and was sure to erase all memory of those black disfiguring bristles. Another hand rested onto a relaxed shoulder. The hand gripped tightly and the blade once more began to wander.

A flick of the wrist and a slide of the hand.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood was on the apron fizzling out in a fountain of gore. The wooden flooring drank readily, famished and pleased with another job well done. The butcher, not the baker, nor the candlestick maker wiped away the red liquid unto a black cloth. He then pulled the lever and allowed for another dull crack to alert the woman downstairs.

Her guests were hungry and it would not do to keep them waiting.

The butcher, not baker, but a blood merrymaker, put away his tool lovingly into it's case.

_Whisper I'll listen_

_I know, I know_

_You've been locked out of sight_

_My friend_

A definitive caress of the case and to the baker the blood merrymaker made off.

.......................................................................

He felt dead, a slow week it was, and no body to sing garish bloody songs upon. He would have to settle for the baker. She pale as death, clip clopped upon the hobbly stairs, ever the faithful wife. But she was not a wife, just a simple stand in, one that was in dire need of a cutting. She opened the door to his little shop an innocent smile gracing her lips, but he smiled his wicked grin and it was easy to see that all innocence was pretend. Sit down little baker he thought to himself as he gestured to his chair. Let us retrieve our friend.

_Ruffles and lace. Ribbons and grace. _

_She sat down on her tuffet, letting him have his way. _

_He leaned down beside her, his grin growing wider_

_And cut some Lovett away._

A thin slit near her breast and little rivulets of blood trickled onto the tight fitting dress. She sighed in pleasure and kicked her tiny feet onto the foot rests appreciatively.

Come Mrs. Lovett let us get on with it the blade whispered as it ghosted over her neck making a wretched promise it could not keep. Her eyes fluttered close and one delicately pale hand gripped her knee. The blade skimmed as a dancer would in a ballet grazing soft pink lips.

_Petal lips, pink and rosy._

_Foutain of blush, pretty as a posy._

_Ashes, ashes, another slit,_

Down.

And he cut away the fabric that restrained pale full breasts. He leaned the chair back to study his handiwork, and licked his lips slowly. What work he could create with fine breasts as those and so he made stark vision a blatant reality upon snowy skin.

Oh, blood made the heart beat and so it was evident as it continued to mar the black of the dress as it rolled and roiled around timid pink nipples.

Art.

He walked before the pale, heaving baker, noting her unrestrained ecstacy, her breathy moans as her curious fingers rubbed at the blood. Hooded eyes met his cold calculating ones.

Would he not play today?

_Dickery dickory dock_

_The widow gasped in shock_

_The clock struck one_

_The blade swung down _

_Hickory Dickory dock_

Pale clever hands met a reddened breast gently squeezing a nipple. A wanting baker pushed into the hand but he was not interested. Pale hand returned to a grim mouth and sucked gently.

It was copper and good and sweet. The man straddled the woman, knife in one hand the other holding a bleeding breast and licking away gently. Soft steady mewling, but he did not let it bother him.

Another cut beneath the collar bone and a faithful tongue followed abandoning a bleeding breast to the English chill.

He drew back and looked at a very loose and dreamy Mrs. Lovett, who was not a Mrs. at all. A flick near the edge of her mouth and he suckled gently at the corner of her mouth. Soft hands fluttered to the back of a firm suit, grasping the scratchy material.

Lips met briefly and a curious tongue begged entrance. Another flick of the knife stopped that insatiable mouth. A smooth tongue laved over a surpised and bleeding shoulder and still those hands.

Hands.

Wandering, grasping, and needing.

So be it then.

He held out a gentleman's hand to help her from the chair and so she took it.

Clip clop they went down the stairs to the powdery, black on black room that was hers. A large bed there was to accomodate a large husband he guessed.

_Sweeney had a little lamb_

_Whose skin was white as snow_

_And everywhere the barber cut_

_Blood was sure to flow_

Ties undown, ruffles pushed through, shoes kicked off, knickers pulled down. And yes, fingers, he supposed were necessary. A blushing writhing thing she was when he forced two cold fingers into her. He pushed up into her feeling his hand becoming slick with her juices. He watched coldly as her body enflamed with a crackling passion bucked into his hand. Mrs. Lovett felt what he could not, but if it would end her insufferable whining, he made to unbutton himself.

Recovering she watched as pants and drawers fell to the floor. She grinned madly and gazed pointedly at the shirt and vest. He scowled but obeyed the silent message. Naked flesh met naked flesh and so se enfolded him into her arms struggling to warm a bitter and frozen heart. A body responded, cock hard, audible grunts, but the thoughts of the knife never wavered, neither did the need for revenge and the pit of despair.

His fingers resumed the steady rhythm inside of Lovett. She laid gentle kisses upon him as she struggled onto his impatient fingers. Finally hitting a spot that he knew was key, she came against his hand, and his first thought was that his suit had remained somewhat clean during this endeavour. He pulled out his fingers and held them to her mouth, and as if trained she licked them clean.

She got onto all fours and approached her prize taking all of him into her small petite mouth. He could not help but groan loudly. If only it were Lucy he wished as he shivered uncontrollably. Looking down he imagined blonde curls, imagined steady sky blue eyes looking into his. He grasped streams of hair and forced the hungry mouth all the way down onto his cock ignoring the choking noises.

_Hey diddle diddle_

_The cat and his fiddle_

_And so she cried to the moon_

_The clever wolf smirked to see such sport_

_And she wished she could have him soon_

He felt himself release into her mouth and pushed her away quickly. She laid in the heap that he threw her, looking up at him with large doe eyes. He ignored this and got off the bed and began redressing himself. He heard a tinging sound from above and his eyes regained a little glimmer of life. He turned to her a small smile on his face.

"Get dressed and I'll make sure dinner's ready, all nice 'n' proper."

"Anythin' for you Mista T."

_There was a barber and his wife_

_And he was beautiful_

_A proper artist with a knife_

_But they transported him for life_

_And he was beautfiul_

FIN


	2. Alliteration at a Decadent Dinner

I DO NOT own the Sweeney nor Lovett, nor the little child Toby. I simply write all that I want because that's what the voices have told me. All credit is due to the playwright and director, of whom I have the greatest respect. Er-nest you might be great go ahead, read on my friends of the feast of the dead.

Fabled though it was, spoken but never done it is the thing that creeps ever so slowly. It is that dark wish that is whispered of, but never acted upon and you would never tell it to your neighbor.

Not unless you were these neighbors.

Vicious wishes are granted and all dark delights sated. A festive mood in the dining hall, beasts feasting on human flesh. Chatter over coffee, but bite into a butcher's pie. Ignore the slightly stringy flesh and gristle, all meat's tough, even the meat that recently had its hair trimmed.

That dastardly smell that whispered to the devil, they ignored it hunched over, hands prying at delicious pies. Heavenly smells, chirping laughter over a real shephard's pie.

_It's priest, have a little priest_

_**Is it really good?**_

_Sir it's too good at least_

Though these pies committed sin in every memorable fashion it was plain to see that they were lovingly crafted. Prepared with soft gentle hands, kneaded and slapped thoroughly with an old rolling pin, flour, and just a hint of love, and then properly ground fleshy sin wrapped into the middle. It was a wonderful work of the wicked.

_Then again they don't commit sins of the flesh, so it's pretty fresh_

_**Awful lot of fat**_

_Only where it sat_

_**Haven't you got poet or somefin like that?**_

Barber upstairs working the chair, and trimming and slicing nightly profits, he did not delight in the smells downstairs, but in the starting process. It was the path that Mrs. Lovett had kindly laid before him. What else to do with the showy pseudo-italian barber but make him a gorgeous dish? The pseudo-italian had gotten one part right; the money is in the packaging. Give an old trick a new wrapper and everyone will come running.

_Well you see the trouble with poet_

_Is how do you know it's deceased_

_Try the priest_

Toby bit into the delicious dish at dinner, curious about the recipe and eager to help. Gentle loving sinner's hands would rest on his shoulders, soft lips would plant a kiss on a good boy's forehead. He needn't concern himself with how a pie is made so long as he hands them out with a cheerful smile on his face.

You had the butcher upstairs delivering newly killed cattle.

There was the baker to choose the best cuts and preparing nefarious meals.

And you had the boy endorsing the dead.

So Toby be a dear and throw the old woman out. It won't do to let the customers get wise, not the customers upstairs nor the ones eating them eagerly down below.

_Lawyer's rather nice_

_**If it's for a price**_

_Order somethin' else though to follow _

_Since no one should swallow it twice_

At the end of the dinner hour the blood drained into sluggish pools near the sewer. Old city London and its deceitful decadence draining down, down and away. Evidence removed, and oven nestled to silence. Smell for the moment bottled. The old woman could eye the restaurant suspiciously, but not a dark cloud emerged from the wicked woman's chimney. She shuffles away head bowed and hands forward searching from the crumb of mercy that no one seemed to offer.

Lovett wiped counters of her crime. She washed plates and dishes that held men of street, of sea, of sheep, of crime, but there was no man of wife. If they had someone waiting and loving, then Lovett did not see them nor cook them nor wash them away. Her Todd was a gentleman if only in that respect.

_**Anything that's lean**_

_Well if your British and loyal_

_You might enjoy royal marine _

_Though o' course it tastes of wherever it's been_

All to be put way is put away, and all that is awake is now asleep.

Except for two.

Lovett and Sweeney cleaning and preening for another day at the zoo.

FIN


	3. Bedazzled Boy and Handsome Hands

I do not own any of the characters except for the father figure guy. Everyone else belongs to their respective playwright/producer Tim Burton included.

Hands.

Apt tools, steady forces of guidance, imagine the creations they may unfold. This boy imagined or at least he had once of the dreams his hands could hold. In the corner of Barker's shop he did his imagining. It was a pleasure to see the deft stroke of a master's hand create such a masterpiece. Where else could one find hands such as those? His mentor was a genius when it came to the swift yet almost sensual art of the knife. A man beneath his knife could close his eyes and just…breathe.

His could not follow that graceful line that epitomized his mentor's talent. He could not force his ungracious hands to be so delicate. Alone at night with his drunken father he could almost see that line. He was certain it was there when his father touched him. His hands would lie firmly at his side and he would lie flat on his back as large hands traced over him. They were not curious, they were not searching, they were confident. They grazed surely over the flat planes of his chest, just as surely as they knew whom they were attached to. Gazing at his own digits, the line of his palm, the nails that graced the tip, he could not help but wonder why he did not possess such a gift. Then there would be another drunken kiss from his father; perhaps he was not worthy.

_I am Adolfo Pirelli_

_Da king of da barbers_

_E buon giorno, good day_

_I blow you a kiss!_

Gone.

His mentor was forcefully taken from his wife and child. They had been together at the market and Judge Turpin had had him removed by several officers. What of the wife her whispering curls enshrouding an angelic face and what of the babe at her mother's breast without a loving father? Fathom the farthest lie and there you would find Barker committing a sin. Farther still would be the young boy's dream of learning the trade. Benjamin Barker husband and father, Daniel O'Higgins, the boy wanting barber, both chained in their own misery.

_To market, to market, where Barker had been,_

He grew older to realize that mannish hands would entail a taller, more lithe figure and frame; he realized he would need to accommodate such ungracious, ungodly, unforgiving hands. To make his fortune he decided that someone would be left behind.

_Home again, home again, living in sin,_

'What's in a name' a playwright had asked. Danny would tell you when a name should be dead. To rid a name and come up with something new is a talent that Danny boasted and had to put to use. Peel away a layer of truth and apply a layer of lie. Put on an Italian suit and follow through with the gaudy voice. Tawdry and hammered to a glimmering shine a new man would step forth from the wagon. Crooked and leaning at his newly heightened frame he would trick the oblivious crowd into a liar's little game.

_To market, to market, to tell them all lies,_

He could not help but want a clever little one to appease his baser nature. To live a lie is fine, to do it alone is a choking bind. Ragamuffin at the orphanage, this boy had been, and he was glad to have him now. Brown hair loose and untrimmed would look perfect beneath a pretty blond wig. He caressed the quivering boy's cheek and brought him closer that he could make his desires known.

_Home again, home again, till Toby boy cries._

There he was, though no longer a man with wife and child. The little boy now a nefarious and twisted older gent could take away the glimmering glamour and be what he really was. He could not ask for what he needed, not even after spending so many years without him. He could not have the truth and so settled for the constant that all men desired; money. Accent unaccounted for, hat from on top of head, he would ask for the money instead.

_It take-a the skill,_

_It take-a the brains,_

_It take-a da will,_

_To take-a the pains,_

_It take-a the pace,_

_It take-a the grace._

Lifeblood, all blood glossy yet dull, shivers quite nicely under a quivering hand. Large mannish hands still not perfect in the art of trimming and cutting could not appease a jugular's wish. Pumping and flowing between hard and heavy hands he knew there was no escaping this.

_You hear this foolish man? Now, please, you will see how he will regret his folly._

Locked in a box on the top of floor of Sweeney's shop he could hear his heart slowing to a still. Hand gripping the outside of the chest seeking relief and knowing there would be none. His father had offered none, he had offered none, and Barker had taken his only hope away.

There was nothing but darkness and blood.

No more lies.

No more pretend.

No more Pirelli.

There was only Danny boy resting in burgundy pools of glimmering tawdry clothes of a pseudoItalian barber.

_And I am dead, as dead I well may be_

_You'll come and find the place where I am lying_

_And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me._

_And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me_

_And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be_

_If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me_

_I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me._

_I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me_

A/N Alright so these are really a series of drabbles. They are simply moments of time in a character's life and are written with no obvious sense of order. Originally this was going to be a Toby piece but I figured Pirelli deserved some sort of snippet. Anyway more will arrive soon.


	4. Befuddled Biddy and Missing Memories

I do not any of the Sweeney crew. I just like writing and rhyming with them. Anyway devious and dark as always, review at the end, if you please.

Spiraling madness at the hands of rape,

Burning

Etching

Crying at fate

Undesired, unwanted completely alone

Yearning

Discerning

There's no going home

Lady in rags

A sliver

Sweet death

Brought back, and nags

Devil smoke

On each breath

She was the old woman and nothing more, there was no past, nothing before. She could not delve into the shadows, could only move forward, though forward was no desirable place to go. She begged for her crumbs, for coin, for sex, but often she received none.

Old woman

Old hag

Ungracious

A slag

Unwanted

Not wary

A poison to carry

She wandered aimlessly on warmer days. She could faintly remember when all had been warm. A bonnet atop pretty blond curls, a husband, a home, a sweet baby girl. She couldn't remember when all had turned to dark. The beadle knew, but she wasn't sure.

She carried a basket, but wasn't sure why. She lingered at flowers, but could not remember their names. She paused at Ms. Lovett's shop and saw the smoke. She could almost see past the fog in her mind, when a gentlemen strolled to down the stairs. He had a cold look, there was white in his hair, but he seemed quite familiar. She still wasn't sure. She cradled her basket and continued her rounds.

At the top of the tower

Alone and forsook

She knew, she did

Remembered his look

Who was he, she was close

All in her mind

Memory wooed her, a heavy dose

The knife surprised her though she knew it at length

Benjamin Barker

Drew blood with such strength

She quivered and shuddered beneath Lovett's gaze, knew it was over, her end of days. A boot kicked her aside and briefly she wondered.

"Johanna!"

And her eyes closed. Dreams all tossed asunder.


	5. Delightful Discussion Over the Mad Maude

**Well, yeah this has been a long time coming. Just more of the same, drabbles and such with more dark and rhyming intent. Ms. Lovett and a friend discuss the nearest patient...Enjoy!**

_At the top of the world one does not want_

_You take, you touch_

_At the top of the world you flaunt_

_You feast and such_

_At the top of the world the women are yours_

_You take, you touch_

_At the top of the world her cries you ignore_

_You feast and such_

* * *

_**Turpin**_**. What a man. Have you seen 'im? **

_Well, everyone has. Hair is brown 'neath that wig. I 'ear._

**That so? Who says?**

_Says she!_

**That woman pretty,pretty as a penny? Her hair's like gold and her eyes a cup of sky, they're so blue!**

_She hasn't moved from that bed._

**That so? Who says?**

_Says me!_

**Ah, but Miss Lovett, isn't she Barker's woman?**

_Ah, me, well that...not so much, not anymore. Y'see, that girl there and Turpin they had a bit of a get together, if you get m'drift. She took a likin' t' him and he took a likin' t' her. Though, I think the lovin' kind of drove 'er a bit mad. Poor dear, though...I think she had it comin'. _

**And what of Mr. Barker?**

_Well, he'll come back soon, I imagine. _

**W**_h_**o**_? W_**h**_o_**'s** _h_**e**_?_

_Nob'dy dearest, you just get your rest. Don't worry that pretty li'tle head a'yours._

* * *

But at the bottom there's a pretty little dame

Empty and Silly

But at the bottom there's someone not the same

Oh! Awful! Really!

But at the bottom she's in a foolish daze

Poor and Broken

But at the bottom her mind it betrays

Yes! More! Friend!


	6. Nellie Needs Some Satisfaction

**Yes, I realize I'm on a roll, but I'm going to bed. This is the awkward bedroom scene that Mrs. Lovett, tiny little thing that she is, probably had to face. However, in a darker more macabre way than was probably thought up by the author...director...whatever. Innerwoven rhyming, one nursery rhyme...just read like a poet, you'll do fine. And the intermittent rhyme is an actual nursery rhyme though, I think the meaning in our time has altered a bit...**

She lies beneath him tiny and pale. It is her duty, obligation, she musn't complain. A wife, a friend, she promised to be. But he pokes and he prods, his ghastly hands move free. Over her throat and her breath hitches and shudders. Down her shoulders, and she writhes but it is not from any pleasure.

_I love little pussy,_

_His coat is so warm,_

He touches her breasts, his mouth moves lower.

She cries at the touch, her back arches high.

She wants it to be over, why won't he die?

His pale tongue, almost a shade of white curls over her skin. A slug's slimy trail moves lower still. She thinks again, why is it not over? He shivers as his trail rings 'round her stomach. Can't he feel it, he's disgusting, a nightmare.

He heaves his large frame even lower.

She wishes to not be there.

There is no satisfaction in being thoroughly eaten. There is no satisfaction in _Albert_. She closes her eyes, ignores the sound of slurps, gulps, the impetuous noise. She will be satisfied.

She sees him, in her dreaming eyes, lovely brown hair, soft kind eyes. He looks at her, his mouth at her center. His tongue and lips suckle gently, lovingly. His fingers move over her mound, in a chaste caress. He tells her he loves her and her toes curl at the forbidden sentiment.

_And if I don't hurt him,_

_He'll do me no harm._

Benjamin, her mind shouts as he hovers over her form. His hand at her hip, she trembles in anticipation. He enters, she cries desire at the sensation. His lips hover near her ear, sweet nothings, she hears them. God, Benjamin! But silently, in her mind.

Together as one, two, not at all. Together, they move, his name on the edge of her tongue, his body just behind her eyes. She wants this, she wants him. Her skin is aflame. His mouth on her breast as they move, catches and ignites all parts of her flesh. She grasps him tighter, the driving at her center making her ache!

_So I'll not pull his tail,_

_Nor drive him away,_

Satisfaction.

She opens her eyes. Gasps. He thinks it's laughter. Stupid, fat, insipid, Albert. He groans loudly, and turns to his side of the bed. She closes her eyes, finds him in her head.

_But pussy and I,_

_Very gently will play_


End file.
